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...and last night delivered!
This is going to be a very brief update, but the events of last night were too awesome to sit on until the next update (which should be, if my once-a-week update schedule is maintained, on Thursday or Friday).
Last night, David, Ryder, Paul, Carline, Carline's boyfriend, Barbara, Sarah, Miriam, and I went to see Skálmöld play at Nasa. We were treated to Steindór Andersen and Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson performing a series of Rímur before the metal began. For those of you who are wondering about the significance of that, for an Ásatrú it was like watching the Pope performing back-up keyboards for a Cistercian monk performing a series of Gregorian chants. It was pretty awesome.
The opening band was a generic, budget, hard rock/thrash metal band; the drummer was decent, but it would have been nice if the bassist and guitarist played something other than the opening chords of Die Toten Hosen, Motörhead, Iron Maiden, Guns N Roses, or Jimi Hendrix songs. Really would have appreciated that.
Skálmöld were awesome, though; they're an Icelandic folk metal band - think Týr, but in Icelandic instead of Faroese - and they rocked hard. The mosh pit was good times - surprisingly gentle, in fact - although a few idiots had their elbows up and a couple even brought bottles and cellphones into the pit. So long as I live, I don't think I will ever understand European metal fans. Most of us got in on the pit - Barbara just kind of threw herself into the middle of it, out of nowhere, and I figured that I might as well join in. Imagine my surprise when Ryder of all people followed me in, too!* I was impressed - for a guy who had resisted going to the show because he wasn't into metal, he handled himself surprisingly well in the pit and, I think, had a good time. Paul and Miriam joined in shortly thereafter and it was a frenetic, sweaty, exhausting, muscle-stiffening, good time of a shoving match.
After the show, we headed on over to Ölsmiðjan for a few pints, then went to Hlölla bátur, which is when the fun began. We were accosted by a couple of teenagers while we were finishing off our bátur and, as they were initially speaking in Icelandic, David assumed his traditional role as our group interpreter. This was, in hindsight, probably the most entertaining choice we could have made. Allow me to explain:
I've already mentioned the dichotomy between David's demeanour (i.e; a charming, civilized, gentleman) and his nature (i.e; a Turkish pimp) and, apparently, when he's drunk, his nature takes over. Hardcore. The kids were asking us for something that David didn't understand, he kept on explaining that he didn't know what they were talking about, and they kept on getting angrier and angrier. Eventually, using my experience from growing up in Hamilton, I realized they were trying to shake us down. We managed to get them to bugger off, but, as they were leaving, David decided to tell them to get stuffed.** This, of course, did not sit well with the kids and I sent David home while the Icelanders came back to talk more crap. I thought I'd dispersed them when they decided to give chase after David, who had decided to stand in an alleyway and watch. At which point I assumed Glorious Battle*** was imminent.
Alas, there was to be no Glorious Battle that night, simply a lot of smack-talk and a lot of me explaining that they really, really, really didn't want to get into any sort of altercation with Paul and I.**** Eventually, Paul retrieved two locals whose presence finally hammered in the fact that the kids were outnumbered and the situation was defused. We still went a roundabout way home, just to make sure there was no ambush, and, perhaps fortunately, there was none.
Still, an excellent evening on the town; metal, beer, and adventure were had by most, and I don't think anyone regretted anything done.
* By joining in with the mosh, Ryder has, perhaps unfortunately for the locals who have come to enjoy the constant sectarian bickering and feuding between he and I, ensured my respect for him and will thus be the recipient of far fewer insults and threats of sexual violence. They'll still happen, of course, but with less frequency. For the time being.
** He actually said much, much worse, but it was in Icelandic and, even then, this is a blag which is read by many folk so I'll censor it thusly.
*** Glorious Battle is the object of any interaction I have with people who I don't know or trust immediately. I've yet to have any in a long while, not since Emily and I were living in a terrible, low-rent apartment near the bus station in St. Catharines.
**** Paul played hockey, he also has brothers. Thus, he is well versed in the 'jersey the SOB and pummel the crap out of his face' school of Battle.
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